"Neither were they, my boy, but as sure as ever Christmas came, and the inevitable Pantomimes also, so did I go to every one; not only in London, but every city of the United Kingdom." Here Sir Simon, as if overcome with emotion, groaned aloud. "My boy, pity me; I believe I am the only person still alive who has ever sat out every single Pantomime that has been written for ten years, and oh! what twaddle they were."
"But what on earth did you go to them for?" asked the Writer, aghast.
"To find you."
"Me? Good heavens, at a Pantomime? Dad, were you dreaming?"
"Yes," answered old Sir Simon, shaking his white head at the recollection. "I was dreaming of what Lal had prophesied—that you would make your name and fortune when you met Dick Whittington, and then you would come back to us. And the more I thought of it, the more I was convinced that there was only one possible way of meeting Dick Whittington in the world to-day, and that would be when some lady—and they were always ladies, plain, fair, ugly, tall, lean, fat, pretty—who appeared as that character—met you whilst impersonating Dick. You rascal, I believed that you would meet one of these female Dick Whittingtons, would ever after write the rubbishy Pantomimes in which she appeared every Christmas season, train up your children to be Pantaloons and Harlequins, and have the audacity to appeal to me to keep the family after having christened the eldest child after me. There is not one single lady," continued the Lord Mayor, as he mopped the perspiration from his face, "from here to Aberdeen, and back to Liverpool and Manchester, who has ever played Dick Whittington that I have not treated to either port wine or champagne (for those were the refreshments they all seemed to favour most) in the hope of finding you; I have spent more than ten times the reputed worth of that Dick Whittington inkstand, in railway fares and buying stalls and programmes. Yet the worst of all to relate is, that when Mum saw the programmes underlined upon my return, she accused me of being enamoured of these extraordinary ladies who stalked the stage in the most indescribable costumes, accompanied by cats. My boy, I know every ridiculous speech, every stupid gag spoken by every Lord Mayor in all those Pantomimes by heart, and the one dread of my life is that I shall one day come out with some of it in one of my speeches at either the Guildhall or the Mansion House."
The Writer lay back in his chair and roared with laughter.
"Poor old Dad, I had no idea you were undergoing such an awful penance!"
"You think it funny, do you?" asked the Lord Mayor indignantly.
"I think it is the funniest thing I have ever heard, but I am sure that all the blame rests with Lal for playing us such a trick."
"Humph! Well, Mum didn't think so, and every time Christmas came there was a coldness between us. Perhaps she will be convinced when I take her this inkstand and explain what it is," wound up Sir Simon triumphantly; "she will believe in Lal then, and believe in me at the same time."